It Runs In The Family
by TreeHugger
Summary: Glorfindel tells a story from Earendil's childhood. Written as a birthday request by Nadra.
1. Default Chapter

It Runs In The Family  
  
By  
  
TreeHugger  
  
This one is for Nadra who has reached the car-driving age. ( Happy birthday, mellon-nin! Drive carefully!  
  
Prologue  
  
The melodious sound of two fair elven voices was heard drifting from the Hall of Fire in the home of Elrond Peredhil, Lord of Imladris. The voices, both clear baritones and remarkably pleasing to the ears, rose swiftly and most accurately in the rapid trilling of sounds and tripping words in one of the most wondrous displays of improvisation and enjoyment that had ever graced the Last Homely House. The song was one that pitted the two singers in a competition of "vocal fireworks," as Mithrandir had called it earlier when hearing that particular song was to be performed this night, testing the skill and range of their voices, not to mention the rapidity with which their tongues could wrap about the flurry of words they would be expected to articulate. The wizard had promised an equally impressive display of his own fireworks afterwards. "No clever lyrics will accompany them though, I fear," he had added with a wry grin at the two 'combatants.'  
  
This unusual song told of a competition between two bragging elf- lords of feuding houses, each laying claim to the title of "Most Mellifluous Melody Maker." There was no set number of verses, which was part of the competition - seeing who could come up with the most clever wording either meant as an insult to one's competitor or a boast of one's self, which often lead to innuendo and much laughter as the words would then all become 'double-edged'.  
  
There had been surreptitious bets made on the outcome of the song, which could last well into the night if the opponents were clever. On this night they were being particularly adroit and didn't appear to be tiring or running out of things to sing at one another, whether it was the greatness they sang of themselves, or the attacks leveled at their opponent. On this night insults, boasts, and insinuations ran rampant as two masters of song challenged one another.  
  
Lord Elrond leaned toward one of his guests and whispered in a low amused voice, "This may go on through many turnings of the seasons."  
  
King Thranduil of Mirkwood smiled at this remark, his eyes on the singers.  
  
"Do you care to make a wager on who will concede first?" he asked, raising one dark golden eyebrow and stroking his chin thoughtfully.  
  
Elrond's gaze returned to where the vocal duelists stood, each with their chests thrust out, long hair glimmering in the light of the fire, eyes leveled on one another in mock disdain. Both were tall, well-made, comely, and were yet in other ways in fine contrast to one another in appearance, which only seemed to enhance the contest.  
  
"Then it shall be Imladris versus Mirkwood?" Elrond said with a grin, steepling his fingers before his lips.  
  
"Yes, Mirkwood versus Imladris. What will you wager against three bottles of my finest Dorwinion?"  
  
Elrond's self-assured grin fell slightly at this. Surely Thranduil must be very confident in his Mirkwood singer if he were willing to wager that! But the ebony-haired lord of Imladris had confidence in his own vocalist. He smiled again, feeling certain that he couldn't lose.  
  
"I have a jewel that I noticed you admiring the last time you visited. I will wager that against your Dorwinion."  
  
Thranduil raised one brow at this, for the pale jewel was indeed a fine specimen, and would make a perfect adornment for a necklace or a crown.  
  
"Done then: my Dorwinions against your jewel. I shall certainly wear your pretty bauble when next you visit Mirkwood."  
  
"And I shall most certainly give you a glass of Dorwinion when next you come to Imladris."  
  
The two glanced at one another, eyebrows raised in a challenge of their own, eyes sparkling with merriment. Then they solemnly shook hands, looking back to the vocal mêlée with much anticipation.  
  
Across the room, Elladan and Elrohir were both laughing at the quick parrying and thrusting of the words, their fair faces lit by the fire that always burned in the great hearth flanked by two carven pillars. Seated beside them were Legolas, Tavor, and Brethil. The three stared in amazement at the singers, unable to reconcile their thoughts about the singer from Mirkwood with who they had previously thought him to be. Brethil was the least amazed of them, and leaned forward with delight, his hands clasped about his knees, a smile on his face. Tavor and Legolas, hearing a particularly biting insult from the lips of the Wood Elf singer, exchanged amazed glances.  
  
"I knew he was good at insults, but I didn't know he could sing!" Tavor hissed, shaking his head in disbelief.  
  
"I didn't either," Legolas admitted with a shrug. "I mean, I knew he could sing - who can't? - but I didn't know he could sing like THAT!"  
  
Several elves turned to silence the pair with penetrating stares and motions for them to be quiet. Elrond's twin sons turned to them as well, but it was with grins of amusement. They smiled down at the younger elves indulgently.  
  
"Would you care to join in on a bet, younglings?" they asked, the inflections in their voices perfectly blended into a strange twin-harmony.  
  
Elladan winked at Elrohir and whispered to the three Mirkwood visitors, "El and I think that Imladris will triumph. Do you care to dispute that?"  
  
Brethil turned to them, his eyes wide and mildly affronted. He had been a little less amazed at their own singer than Legolas and Tavor had been, but now that he knew what talent lay hidden there he was ready to defend the Mirkwood singer with all that was in him.  
  
"Mirkwood will triumph," Legolas said quickly, seeing that Brethil was drawing a breath to speak. "What do you bet?"  
  
Elladan and Elrohir made their wagers with the Mirkwood trio, not knowing that all about the Hall of Fire bets were being placed between Imladris' inhabitants and those visiting from the green fastness of Thranduil.  
  
Not entirely unaware of what was happening about them, the singers joined together on the chorus of the song, their voices in a perfect woven harmony, each wondering just how many times they had sung the ridiculous words of this very chorus and trying not to laugh as others in the room joined in on the refrain, egging them on.  
  
Glorfindel, whose turn it was to attack first, swept in quickly with an insult about the other's hair, while running a hand through his own golden mane and fluttering his long lashes. A grin spread over his lips as the silver brows of his opponent rose above sparkling grey eyes. Already a return blow was being prepared and Glorfindel finished off his assault with a rapid, impressive run of notes to end out his turn. Now his opponent would have to not only match or top his insult, he would have to match or top the improvised melody.  
  
Tanglinna was indeed up to the challenge and gladly rattled off an insolent verse at the golden-haired elf-lord as the silver-haired archer ran both of his hands through his silver tresses, then quirked an eyebrow.  
  
As they sang the chorus once more, the melody raising a half note higher with every set of verses sung to test their range, they eyed one another, each trying to gauge how much longer their rival would last.  
  
When at last their audience had reached just the right pitch of excitement and anticipation, the two turned to one another at the chorus, each barely able to keep from bursting into inappropriate fits of laughter at the latest barrage of sly innuendo that had lately escaped their tongues. As the last note of the refrain died away and the people seated in the Hall of Fire leaned forward expectantly, Glorfindel and Tanglinna both drew deep breaths, which they then exhaled dramatically, and bowed to one another with a flourish, each acknowledging that the other was equally skilled at this game, and ending it neatly in a draw.  
  
Bursts of applause filled the air as they bowed to their audience, their features carefully schooled to aloof acceptance of their prowess, and then they moved to bow once more to their lords who were both clapping their hands and laughing in delight. Elrond and Thranduil rose to embrace the two, grinning broadly.  
  
"You shouldn't end it in a tie," Thranduil admonished, a companionable arm about his Master Archer's shoulders. "Elrond and I had a bet on the outcome which you have quite spoiled."  
  
"Mayhap you should gift the wagers upon Tanglinna and me for competing so well," Glorfindel suggested, a bright gleam in his blue eyes.  
  
Elrond and Thranduil gazed at one another before shaking their heads.  
  
"Will a glass of Dorwinion suffice?" Elrond offered.  
  
Glorfindel's eyes slid to his singing partner who chuckled, his silver eyes going to his king.  
  
"You had better accept that right quickly, Lord Glorfindel," Tanglinna said, plucking one of the glasses a young servant carried on a tray. "It may not be offered again."  
  
Glorfindel took one glass as well, and with a salute to Tanglinna sipped the wine, enjoying the taste as it slid over his tongue and down his throat.  
  
"Most excellent," he commented, canting his head to Thranduil who had provided this particular vintage. "Do you mind if Tanglinna and I take one with us as well?"  
  
When neither Elrond nor Thranduil objected, the two elves, one with hair as bright and golden as the sun and one with hair as shimmering and silver as starlight, took another glass and moved slowly out of the Hall of Fire, laughing quietly together.  
  
"I never realized that Tanglinna had such a lovely voice," Elrond commented, watching as the two disappeared out the door as a young elf maiden seated herself on a plump cushion set upon the floor near the blazing fire, skillfully tuning the beautifully crafted lute she held in her slender hands.  
  
"He doesn't sing often, but when he does it is a treat indeed," the king of Mirkwood agreed, his eyes moving to where his son sat with his friends. They were all laughing quietly together as they awaited the elf maiden's song, all of them but Brethil Bronaduion. Thranduil's eyes narrowed as he studied the young elves' features. The twins looked very mischievous, as did Tavor and Legolas. Brethil merely looked worried, and kept glancing at the doorways. This was not good. Thranduil's gaze moved to Elrond who was sipping his own glass of Dorwinion, a calm, pleased expression on his face. Thranduil hoped that he was wrong in his assumption that the five young elves had done something they shouldn't have, but the looks on their faces seemed to implicate them. The elven king's blue eyes traveled about the room, trying to see if there were any buckets of mud hanging from the rafters, or if anyone was choking on their wine. Since he saw nothing hidden amidst the rafters and no one was choking on any foul tasting vintage he thought perhaps he had mistaken the gleam in their eyes and it was nothing more than amusement at the contest between Glorfindel and Tanglinna.  
  
"Don't worry, Thranduil," Elrond chortled, noting his guest's unease. "Erestor kept them all occupied this afternoon. They haven't had time to do anything. . . troubling."  
  
"I hope you are right, Peredhil."  
  
Thranduil turned his attention to the elf maiden who had begun to sing a beautiful love song, a perfect counter to the silliness that had preceded it. But the king of Mirkwood wondered if even the imperturbable Erestor could manage to keep those five out of trouble for the duration of the day. Suddenly his brows knit.  
  
"Where is Erestor?" he asked, his eyes scanning the room once more, failing to locate the dark-haired elf-lord.  
  
Elrond turned to look at him, and then did his own search. Erestor was nowhere in sight. Elrond grimaced as he gazed at his sons and their three guests. Yes, the five of them looked . . . well, yes, guilty.  
  
"Oh, no," he breathed, his eyes moving back to Thranduil who shook his golden head, one hand creeping up to grasp his forehead as if he were in pain.  
  
"What have they done now?" they murmured in unison.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Elsewhere in Imladris, the imperturbable Erestor was hurrying across the chill stones of the pathway, his head turning left and right as he prayed fervently that no one would see him before he came to his room. He had been enjoying a quiet bath in the bathing house in preparation for this night's entertainment, occasionally sipping at a glass of wine as he soaked. He had been somewhat perturbed to find that when he emerged from the sunken tub, much later than he had intended - had he fallen asleep?! - that somehow there was no towel to dry himself. He knew the hour was later than he expected; the sun was already setting judging by the strange violet tinge in the water he had just emerged from. Then even more disturbing was the fact that all of his clothing seemed to have disappeared as well. He growled into the empty air, muttering imprecations against the twins and the young Mirkwood visitors. He knew this was one of their pranks; of that he had no doubt. He moved to the door of the bathhouse, only to find that he couldn't open it. It had been 'locked', somehow, from the outside. After a rather undignified time of yanking at the doorknob and cursing rather creatively in all the languages that he knew, - and they were many - making various threats against the perpetrators of this 'joke,' he had finally won his freedom after climbing dripping and naked onto the ledge and slipping out one of the open windows.  
  
He had begun to think he would make it to his room without detection, as most of Imladris inhabitants and guests would be enjoying the entertainment in the Hall of Fire, when he heard voices ahead of him on the path. It might not have been so bad if one of the voices hadn't been Glorfindel's.  
  
"Why him?" he groaned, his eyes making a frantic search for a hiding place. "Why him, of all elves!"  
  
As the voices drew nearer, Erestor leapt off the path and into the bushes that lined the walkway. Glorfindel and the other were speaking of Gondolin, and Erestor overheard his friend's unknown companion say that his mother had lived in Gondolin for a time. Unfortunately for Erestor, Tanglinna was that companion, and he had heard the bushes rustling ahead of them. The Master Archer froze in place, his senses immediately on alert even here in peaceful Imladris.  
  
Glorfindel halted in his tracks, his expression perplexed. He watched as the silver-haired elf crept silently up the path, his gaze moving to the bushes. Suddenly Tanglinna reached into the bushes and grabbed a handful of wet, dark hair. Erestor yelped in a rather undignified manner as the archer pulled him from his hiding place.  
  
"Erestor?" Glorfindel murmured in amazement as he stared at the naked elf. "What. . . what. . . ." Suddenly he began to laugh, and then seeing the expression of pained dignity on his friend's face, laughed harder.  
  
Tanglinna's eyes slid to the golden-haired elf and then back to Erestor. His silver brows rose questioningly.  
  
The counselor drew himself up, trying to look more composed than he actually was, his grey eyes filled with indignation.  
  
"Might I borrow your cloak?" he said in a quiet, controlled voice, indicating the thin grey garment that Tanglinna had donned before he and Glorfindel had left the Hall of Fire.  
  
The archer quickly doffed the garment and gave it to the Imladris elf, who hurriedly threw it about himself. As he did so, he gazed back at the two others as though daring them to say anything to him. He was rather infuriated by the fact that Glorfindel seemed somewhat incapable of saying anything at this moment, as he was still overcome with a fit of laughter. Erestor sighed long-sufferingly and looked to the archer.  
  
Tanglinna's face contorted slightly, then he cocked his head to one side.  
  
"Why are you purple, Erestor?" he asked at last, then broke down into peals of delight himself.  
  
"What are you talking about?" the dark-haired counselor asked. He gazed down at one bare arm that held the cloak closed before him, hearing a strangled cry emerge from his throat. He was indeed purple, rather a lovely shade actually if it hadn't been on his skin. "I will get them for this!" he hissed, pulling the cloak more tightly about himself and stalking away, rubbing at his arm with the cloak and feeling dismayed by the fact that it didn't seem to have even the slightest affect on his purple skin.  
  
When at last Glorfindel and Tanglinna had stopped laughing at the unfortunate Erestor, they decided they had better go and warn Elrond and Thranduil of this 'violet' development. They both knew that neither Imladris' esteemed lord nor the great King of Mirkwood would be amused with the latest prank, and the five young elves would not be able to get out of the punishment that would befall them. Perhaps, though, it was worth it.  
  
"I wonder how long before the purple will wear off Erestor's skin," Glorfindel chortled, feeling only the tiniest bit sorry for his friend.  
  
"About five days," Tanglinna told him with a wry grin.  
  
"You sound awfully certain about that."  
  
Tanglinna's grin widened, his eyes sparkling.  
  
"I am very certain about it."  
  
"Wait a moment!" Glorfindel cried, stopping on the path and turning to his companion. "I seem to recall a tale about a rather violet-hued king when Mirkwood was known as Greenwood the Great. I also seem to remember that Oropher was rather upset with his young Master Archer, as well as Prince Thranduil, over a certain incident involving some purple dye and a bath."  
  
Tanglinna's grin narrowed to a smirk, and he canted his head.  
  
"Yes, I seem to recall something like that as well."  
  
"You wicked elf!" Glorfindel exclaimed, clapping the archer on the back as they continued back to the Hall of Fire. "So you told Legolas about it, did you?"  
  
Tanglinna shook his head.  
  
"No, I never told him."  
  
"Then who did? Ha! Thranduil!" Glorfindel crowed, even more amused. "This is going to be most interesting."  
  
The two moved on, the voices coming from the Hall of Fire growing louder as they approached it.  
  
"This is too funny to go unrewarded in some way," Glorfindel chuckled. " I think that perhaps Thranduil won't be too hard on them, as it looks like it is partly his fault that this particular prank was played." The elf-lord laughed suddenly. "This sort of thing seems to run in the family." A sly look suddenly came over his face, his blue eyes gleaming. "I think I have an idea how to deflect Elrond's need to reprimand them too much, for Erestor is going to want them to suffer greatly. I am glad that the hour is early. . . early enough for a tale. Some things do indeed run in the family."  
  
Tanglinna gazed at Glorfindel, wondering just what he meant, and then knew that he was going to find out soon enough. Glorfindel entered the Hall of Fire and moved toward his lord. Elrond listened to what his friend whispered in his ear and then nodded, wondering why Glorfindel, who had already performed, would want now to tell a story.  
  
Seated in a secluded corner, Mithrandir smiled about his pipe stem, his eyes twinkling merrily. Things were about to get rather interesting it seemed. The wizard's gaze slid to the Master Archer now standing behind King Thranduil gazing back at him, wondering at the odd look of amusement on his old friend's face. Tanglinna smiled down at him and shook his head, a rather pitying look in his eyes. Thranduil frowned and looked away. What was going on? It was bad enough that the 'children' had done something - of this he was certain - but what was going on now?  
  
After a trio of young female elves had finished singing, Glorfindel strode to the center of the room, every eye turning to him. He did make a magnificent figure standing in the fire's glow, his hair burnished and shining, his clothing as carefully selected and as immaculate as ever. The elf-lord gazed at the assembly, his eyes moving last to the five young elves who didn't know that certain doom was fast approaching them.  
  
There was an appreciative stir in the room, and Elrond leaned forward in his chair in anticipation as Glorfindel began to speak.  
  
"There were once three great elf-lords who dwelt in Gondolin, and one bright, mischievous child named Earendil . . . ."  
  
TBC  
  
I had meant this to be a one-chapter wonder, but as you see, some things have a mind of their own. ;)  
  
Thank you to al, my beautiful beta! What a fast job you did on this one! :) 


	2. Chapter 2 Earendil the Terrible

Chapter 2 - Earendil the Terrible  
  
Gondolin the Song of Stone, the great Hidden City of King Turgon, gleamed like polished pearl in the morning light just as the sun crested Echoriath's circling heights, the sky paling from night's velvet-dark hue to dawn's golden glowing. The colorful lamps that hung in the trees were extinguished; cobwebs sparkled like strings of tiny diamonds amidst the gleaming leaves as the sun caressed them with its first touch. The euphonious sounds of the birds awakening filled the crystalline air, blending with the play of the fountains; the sparkling fall of water glistering as it leapt upward toward the sky then fell into the awaiting basins of carved pale stone. A few people were moving about the paved streets preparing for the market, placing cut flowers, bolts of cloth, exquisitely crafted jewelry, fruits and vegetables out for display. Soon the sound of children's voices would ring about the streets, voices filled with laughter and life.  
  
Flowers bloomed in profusion, nestled in the tree-lined walkways and tumbling from window boxes and baskets. The Tarnin Austa - the Gates of Summer - had been celebrated not many nights hence and the feeling of wonder and rejoicing still lingered in the hearts of the Gondolindrim. Banners fluttered in the light breeze atop the slender carved towers of the city, their colors sharpening as the sky changed from its pale gold to light blue.  
  
Three tall elves were walking through the streets, their merry laughter lifting about them as they headed for the King's Square and the palace. One had raven-dark locks; one flowing hair of polished silver; and the third had hair as shining bright as the sun. The three were great friends, lords of their Houses and at times, though they were strong warriors and wise counselors, were as lighthearted and mischievous as children. This very morning they had decided to gift their beloved king with an early serenade, for they were fine musicians also. Ecthelion, the leader of this joyous group, was laughing heartily as he lifted his silver flute to his lips and played a running trill of notes in anticipation of their dawn concert.  
  
"Quiet!" Glorfindel chuckled. "We don't want to awaken him just yet!"  
  
"Very true," Eglamoth agreed, though his lips twitched in amusement. "We have planned this perfectly since the day he sent courtiers to rouse us from bed before the sun rose for an urgent meeting, only to find out that he wanted us to assist him in choosing his robe for the day. He seemed overly pleased to see the three of us standing there, trying our best not to yawn in his presence. He deserves this, and I don't want it spoiled because you cannot contain your excitement for just a few moments more."  
  
Ecthelion laughed and lowered his little flute, twirling it deftly between his fingers, the sun playing on its shining silver surface.  
  
"Don't worry. I won't spoil our fun, but I am very excited about this!" He grinned at his companions, lifting his flute once more, grey eyes sparkling like fallen stars.  
  
"You are as irredeemably mischievous as Earendil is, Ecthelion," Glorfindel laughed, hefting his small harp, and plucking a few quiet notes in accompaniment to Ecthelion's piping.  
  
"Truly, you both are!" Eglamoth protested, laying one hand over Glorfindel's strings to still the music. "Earendil is probably already up and about, sailing his fleet of little boats in his grandfather's great fountain, and if you two are not quiet you will attract his attention and our Grand Plan will never come off as it should!"  
  
"Perhaps we should enlist the young one's aid," Ecthelion said, tilting his dark head to one side in contemplation. "He has more creative energy than any of us."  
  
"Too much," Glorfindel said with a sigh, running one hand through his lovely golden locks. He had not thought himself given to vanity overmuch until the young scamp of Tuor and Idril's had changed his hair to a lovely shade of green which rivaled the bright leaves of the trees themselves. "I will never again accept a gift of sweet smelling shampoo from that one!"  
  
Eglamoth did laugh then, though he too had fallen victim to Earendil's many pranks and games. They all had.  
  
"To think we used to all vie for the opportunity to watch him when his parents needed some time alone," Ecthelion said with a grin.  
  
"That was when he was an innocent babe and couldn't move around much, except by rolling across the floor from his stomach to his back. Do you remember?" Eglamoth said with a wistful grin.  
  
"Then he learned to crawl," Glorfindel commented dryly.  
  
"Then to walk and run," Ecthelion groaned, shaking his head.  
  
"Things haven't been the same since," Eglamoth finished for them, his eyes twinkling brightly. He eased his little lute from his back and strummed it gently. He admired its dark polished wood inlaid with opals and set with fair crystals shaped like stars. "Shall I sing you a song of Earendil the Terrible?" he asked, with a quirk of his brows.  
  
"Who called him that?" Ecthelion asked with a frown.  
  
"Hmph! I will give you one guess."  
  
"I don't need even the one. Salgant," Glorfindel snorted and rolled his blue eyes expressively. "I don't understand why he was that upset with the child."  
  
"Can't you?" Ecthelion asked lightly with a grin. "After the incident with that grass skimmer of Earendil's . . . ."  
  
Glorfindel and Eglamoth exchanged amused glances as they recalled the day in question, and Salgant, lord of the house of the Harp lying flat on his back with a rather stunned expression on his face, his eyes slightly dazed after being run down by "Earendil the Terrible" and his 'flying grass skimmer'.  
  
"Why ever did you put wheels on it, Ecthelion?" Eglamoth asked with a laugh. "What madness possessed you? You have handed him a weapon that none of us can counter!"  
  
Ecthelion laughed heartily as he though of the rather plain piece of wood that now "skimmed" over the ground atop the wheels that he himself had affixed. Hendor though had painted bright designs on it, such as he thought would please Idril's young son.  
  
"He wanted to fly, Eglamoth! I couldn't refuse him. I had to do something! So putting some wheels on a piece of shaped wood seemed harmless enough. Though the Valar know that he has fallen off it plenty of times."  
  
"And you endanger the rest of us!" Eglamoth protested though his eyes sparkled with amusement. It was rather delightful to watch young Earendil 'flying' through the streets of Gondolin on his 'skimmer'. That is unless one was in his way, then it was not so delightful to behold.  
  
Glorfindel smiled as he gazed up at Turgon's palace, the doors flanked by Glingol and Bansil, the two trees that were reminders of the Great Trees of Valinor. Turgon's tall tower rose behind the palace, the rays of the early sun playing along its graceful height, bathing the fair white stone with a soft golden hue. The birds had risen with the sun and the air filled with their song. Yet another glorious day had begun in the Hidden City of King Turgon. The fountain played its own merry melody and the lord of the Golden Flower's smile widened as he turned to his companions.  
  
"I think our good king must tire of being awakened by this bird warbling and the fountain singing its bubbly song. What say you, my friends, that we rouse our king to wakefulness with a song the likes of which he has never heard!"  
  
Ecthelion laughed heartily then and clapped Eglamoth on the back.  
  
"It is time for our Dawn Serenade to begin," he said with a bow to his fellows, his face drawn in sudden serious lines.  
  
"Aye, music fit for a king," Glorfindel said, returning the bow gracefully.  
  
"He'll get an earful indeed!" Ecthelion laughed then trilled some rather discordant notes on his flute.  
  
The three musicians then seated themselves before the palace and prepared to play.  
  
Now all the elves of Gondolin had heard many concerts given by these three, and they were truly gifted on their chosen instruments, but this morning the idea of the music was not to delight and amaze or send slender elvish feet into dance. This day they were determined to awaken their king with the Worst Song Ever Composed. It had been much harder than they had anticipated, composing a song to sound deliberately bad and out of tune, but they had finally resorted to writing it down as one or the other of them would always try to harmonize nicely with the others, which defeated the purpose of this piece entirely. But at last, it was ready to be preformed for their chosen audience.  
  
"I am apologizing to you now," Ecthelion murmured to the birds and the surrounding trees and plants. "Hopefully you won't have to endure this horrendous sound for long. We will play very loudly and hopefully the king will be down here yelling at us quite soon." With a nod to his companions, they began to play.  
  
The birds that inhabited the branches of the two wondrous trees took flight almost immediately, squawking with distress as they headed for other trees to hid in. The trees and plants, which could not flee, moaned helplessly as Glorfindel and Eglamoth began to sing in very loud, very out of tune voices in accompaniment to their playing.  
  
Fortunately, the king did appear in an upper window, his face filled with wrath as he gazed down at Ecthelion, Eglamoth, and Glorfindel. They smiled a greeting to him, and tipped their heads in acknowledgement but continued to sing and play most inharmoniously. One silken slipper splashed into the fountain behind them, then another, and Turgon scowled fiercely, turned from the window, and then disappeared.  
  
"Here he comes," Eglamoth sang with a laugh as Ecthelion nearly choked with laughter, his flute screeching as he spluttered.  
  
The palace doors opened, but it wasn't Turgon that emerged. It was 'Earendil the Terrible'. His face was filled with mischief and mirth as he leapt from the steps small white puffs rising with every footfall. He ran to the musicians, nearly toppling Eglamoth into the fountain as the child leapt to stand beside them, leaning against Ecthelion's broad shoulder. Their music ceased to the immediate elation of the vegetation, and they exchanged glances, wondering what this imp had done so early in the morning to cause such glee to cavort in his eyes.  
  
"Been busy already?" Eglamoth asked him, and the child lifted one stocking foot for his inspection.  
  
"What is that?" Glorfindel asked, noting the white dust that covered the little sock.  
  
Earendil didn't have a chance to answer as they heard a crash and a rather undignified stream of words from Turgon, who appeared a moment later, his face red as he slipped and slid to the doorway. Gondolin's king studied the four by the fountain, his nostrils flared with anger as he supported himself by grasping the doorframe.  
  
"Good morning, Beloved King," Ecthelion said standing and bowing gracefully, his long dark hair slipping over one shoulder. "Did you enjoy our serenade?"  
  
Earendil giggled as he leapt from the fountain and ran to embrace his grandfather, flinging his arms about the elf king's knees as Eglamoth and Glorfindel stood, bowing to their king.  
  
"Did you enjoy the skate across my icy pond?" the child piped happily, knowing that this grandfather must have enjoyed it nearly as much as he did, as the king's posterior region was rather white with the 'ice' that Earendil had applied liberally to the polished floor that morning.  
  
Turgon stared at the three elf-lords, seeing the amusement that lit their eyes. He drew several deep breaths before smiling down at them, his eyes filled with a fell amusement of his own. The three elf-lords exchanged uneasy glances as his grey eyes took them in, and then slid to his grandson.  
  
"Actually I am rather glad to see you," he began, addressing Ectheli0n, Eglamoth, and Glorfindel. "Earendil is spending the day with me as dear Meleth his nurse is assisting Idril this day, and as I have some rather urgent business to take care of, I was wondering who I could get to watch him for a time. How wonderful that the three of you showed up this morning so full of fun and life! You are just what I need. Would you like that, Earendil?" he asked, knowing well what the answer would be. "Maybe they would like to skate on your 'icy pond'."  
  
When a wide, mischief-filled grin spread over the child's face, Ecthelion turned stricken eyes to his companions.  
  
"I knew this was a bad idea," he murmured, fingering his flute.  
  
"It was YOUR idea in the first place!" Eglamoth and Glorfindel hissed at him at the same time.  
  
"Come, come," Turgon called, patting his grandson on the head. "I am sure Earendil will find many things to keep you all occupied. Your day will be quite . . . fun." He motioned for them to enter the palace. "Be sure to take off you shoes, else the effect of Earendil's 'ice' will have been for nothing, and we can't have that now, can we?"  
  
"After you," Eglamoth said sourly, bowing to Ecthelion in annoyance. It was too early for things to have gone so wrong.  
  
Glorfindel skewered Ecthelion with his gaze as well, gesturing with one slim hand toward the open palace doors. "Yes," he murmured when Ecthelion hesitated, "after you."  
  
"Take off your shoes, Ecthelion!" Earendil cried, jumping up and down with excitement. "Hurry! Hurry!"  
  
"They are hurrying, Earendil," Turgon assured him. "Don't worry, my dear lords," he continued when Ecthelion held out his flute imploringly. "Leave your instruments here. I will have someone take them to your homes unharmed. You will not be needing them any longer this day."  
  
Ecthelion gazed apologetically at his two friends as they did as they were bidden. Then they bent to remove their shoes when Turgon gestured pointedly at their feet.  
  
Earendil crowed happily, grabbing Ecthelion's hand before he could even straighten and pulled him into the palace.  
  
Glorfindel and Eglamoth exchanged horrified glances as the lord of the Fountain almost immediately lost his footing on the slippery, powder- covered floor and fell with a "Woof!" of surprise.  
  
"I didn't know there was that much powder in all of Arda," Eglamoth commented as he stared in dismay at Ecthelion, who stood slowly, only to fall once more in a cloud of white powder which dusted his dark locks, making them appear grey.  
  
Glorfindel sneezed as he entered the room. Powder flew everywhere as Earendil 'skated' expertly about his 'pond' and jumped up and down in delight as he had three fine companions for the day.  
  
"This is going to be a rather long day," the lord of the Golden Flower murmured to Eglamoth just before Turgon gave them each a shove from behind, sending them slipping and sliding across the floor before they finally fell into an undignified heap of long limbs and powdery hair.  
  
"I certainly hope that it is," the king said, raising one brow. "Very long indeed."  
  
None of them saw the bright gleam in Earendil's eyes as he murmured, "It will be. It will be."  
  
TBC  
  
*sigh*  
  
Yes, it has been AGES since I wrote the first part of this tale, and this part has been sitting neglected in my computer since.July. Ahem! That long, hm? Yes, months ago it was finished.or nearly so. I am sorry there are no responses from me this time, but I believe I have been rude enough as it is in making you wait so long for it. ( My most sincere apologies to you all. I will try to do better in the future.  
  
"Of course you will," an insidious voice whispers, followed by a low chuckle.  
  
"Are we in this chapter?" another voice asks.  
  
"No."  
  
"Will we be in any other chapters?"  
  
"I don't know. She has been neglecting us lately."  
  
"Ask her, Legolas."  
  
"Not me!! She has been rather . . .busy lately and RL is making her slightly," he leans toward his two companions and whispers, "insane."  
  
"What is RL?"  
  
"Real Life, Brethil. Honestly, don't you know anything!"  
  
"Yes, Tavor, I do know some things, but some of these abbreviations are confusing. Why do they use them all the time?"  
  
"Because it is faster than writing things out."  
  
"Oh? You mean . . . The Laziness Factor. I see."  
  
"Yes, Tree excels at that," the first voice purrs.  
  
"Shut up, Tanglinna!"  
  
"Yes, Tree. You had better start working on the next chapter though . . .of something. Do you realize how many chapters you have to write? There is Jade King, Through the Eyes of a Child, Bells of Silver, Knife's Edge, Elrond's Most Forgettable -"  
  
"That one needs an abbreviation," Brethil giggles.  
  
"Yes, it does," Tanglinna agrees with a smile. "Very well: EMFB. How is that? And also The Tale of the Silver Peacock and the Skulking Cutpurse."  
  
"Her titles are getting longer as she gets older," Tavor comments dryly.  
  
Author growls slightly and glares at the elves.  
  
"Just shut up! I know! I know! Now go away!" Tree mutters watching them walk down the stairs toward the door, Brethil looking worried, Tavor ignoring her completely, Legolas trying not to grin, and Tanglinna smirking and whispering a bit too loudly, "She will regret that she told us to go away." Slowly it dawns on the author. "No! Wait! Don't go away! Wait! Come back! Blast!!! Now I will never get anything written!"  
  
*sigh*  
  
;D 


End file.
